They Shouldn't Know
by freudian fuckup
Summary: The things they shouldn't know are the ones they will have to work the hardest to forget.


"Fuck, ahhh!"

"Oh god, oh Jamie."

"Don't _call_ _me_ Jamie," he says, glaring up at Sirius in the dark. His skin is tan and smooth, prettier than any girl James has ever seen without a shirt on (not that there have been many) and James wonders how anyone could _not_ want to fuck Sirius, want to see Sirius close his eyes and scream obscenities when he's close to coming.

The table thumps against the wall with each thrust, echoing through the deserted room.

"I – Oh. You –" James says helplessly, the words forced from his mouth by the motion.

_thump thump thump_

Sirius bites down, his teeth leaving twelve perfect marks on James's neck.

"Damn _vampire_-dog," James mutters, arching up into the pain and also Sirius's narrow, bony hips.

They rut against each other's half-clothed bodies like animals, and the sounds they make are feral, fighting sounds. It's a struggle for dominance, biting and scratching and bleeding at every turn, their eyes dark with ferocity and their limbs drunk on adrenaline and testosterone.

Sirius laughs, rough and wicked, and bites down harder, this time on the edge of James's jaw where it meets his neck. There will be bruises. There are always bruises, but it's worth it for the fight and the fuck and the gut wrenching, blinding ecstasy of coming all over Sirius's chest while Sirius screams, because he can't form words anymore and his lips are too bitten and bloody.

But not yet.

_thump thump slide_

The table moves a few inches and they lose their footing and land sprawled on the floor, a tangle of hardness and sweat. James rolls himself on top, forcing his way between Sirius's legs. Sirius wraps his long, wiry limbs around James's waist and pushes up into him, their naked pricks rubbing together with each arch of Sirius's hips.

"Fuck, shit, _oh_ god—" Sirius groans. He's so, so, so close, and James can feel it, and he wants to make Sirius cry because screaming isn't good enough.

"You don't believe in god."

"You're right. If there was a god, this floor wouldn't be so hard."

"I think you like it hard," James says, smiling. He would laugh, too, for effect, but his lungs are too busy drinking in every breath Sirius grants him between wet, sucking kisses and hard, chest-crushing thrusts.

Sirius raises his eyebrows and James should see it coming, but he doesn't, and the next thing he knows he is being flung backwards, his head cracking painfully against the stone floor. Sirius pins him down with a knee on each hand, sitting up so that their bodies don't touch.

"Sirius, come _on_," James whines, making small, desperate motions with his hips. Sirius throws his head back and laughs, the long lines of his chest shaking. He's insane, he is absolutely bloody mad, and James _wants_ him like he's never wanted anything else in his life.

"Alright, Potter. Beg for it."

James glares at him fiercely, because _this_ is a _challenge_, and whether their pants are on or off, it counts, and James never surrenders. With all the malice he can muster, he leans forward, and Sirius lets him sit up, so that they are eye to eye and Sirius is practically in his lap. He leans in close, breath coming in hot gasps against Sirius's cheek.

"Never." He bites down on Sirius's earlobe as hard as he can, and Sirius lurches, shoving him back onto the floor. He grins like a dog, the demented flash of teeth visible even in the near-darkness. He takes hold of James's arms, holding them down at the wrists, and slithers down his body, biting gently on the soft, sensitive skin of James's belly and hipbones. Without warning, he sucks hard on the leaking tip of James's prick, but before James can moan or thrust, his mouth disappears, leaving the stiff flesh cool and damp against the air.

"Padfoot, _Padfoot_," he yells. He wanted to see Sirius _cry_ when he came, but now he's afraid he will wail without even getting off.

"Come on, Potter," Sirius says. His voice is full of wanton joy, the twisted fuck, and his hand leaves James's wrist for a moment to cup his balls.

"_Please_, oh god please just—please," James cries, feeling certain that if he doesn't feel Sirius all over him right now now _now_, he's going to _die_. Sirius doesn't smile this time, he just leans in and presses their lips together, slow and sweet. It's not enough, not nearly enough, but it's _good_, and it can't last because James can feel himself losing control.

"Pads – Sirius, _fuck_." Sirius opens his eyes and his hand finds James's prick, stroking it fast, but not as fast as James's hips are snapping into his grip. He wants to look away, to shudder and flinch and gasp without Sirius's grey eyes like knives in his chest, but he can't.

And then he's coming like fire, and his head throbs and his cock pulses thick and hot between their chests, and it's _everywhere_, and they're a mess, but it's so _good_ James can't find it in himself to give a damn. His entire back arches upwards and Sirius squeezes and strokes until James collapses, shaking and spent.

The next time he opens his eyes, he can see it in Sirius's face, the sudden openness, and he knows a second before it happens that Sirius is finished. He topples over the edge silently with a strangled breath and his lips muttering _Jamie, Jamie, oh god, Jamie_ over and again into James's salt-slicked throat. James tangles his fingers in the wet hair at the nape of Sirius's neck and holds him still while his hips twitch frantically.

"Shhhh," James whispers, using his other hand to stroke up and down Sirius's back.

They're not meant to be like this. Boys are not supposed to be soft and quiet, to let their eyes meet and their fingers tangle. They aren't allowed to be so close that they're barely two people, with their own sweat and come and tears like mortar and their bodies breathing together. They're not, they're _not_.

James feels like he's had a really hard Quidditch practice, his muscles strained and exhausted and his head empty of all thought. It's blissful oblivion, and Sirius's body has gone limp against him, fitting hard into the angles and crevices of James's hips and thighs and shoulders.

They will have to tear themselves apart, soon. Not just apart and off the floor and back to the tower, but apart and into the world and on to separate lives, until they can't remember all these things they were never meant to know in the first place (what each other's mouths taste like, what Sirius's eyes look like when he cries.) Soon. Soon, but not yet. And Sirius sighs and wraps himself around James's body, and he is warm, and James doesn't want to be torn just yet.


End file.
